


Contre Jour

by glenien



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Morning After, Those Three Words, it's so fluffy it hurts, proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-23
Updated: 2016-04-23
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:31:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6627250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glenien/pseuds/glenien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John opens his eyes, he knows <i>exactly</i> where he is. Instantly, it’s <i>too much</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Contre Jour

**Author's Note:**

> A.N: I seem to have developed a weakness for John being in Sherlock’s bedroom.
> 
>  **Contre-jour** (French for "against daylight") is a photographic technique in which the camera is pointing directly toward a source of light. [Wikipedia]

When John opens his eyes, he knows _exactly_ where he is. Instantly, it’s _too much_. It’s way, way too early to deal with such a _huge_ burst of elating feelings in his chest. He dumps the crook of his arm onto his face and is able to successfully escape from the ecstatic audio-visual clues singing from all corners of the room by covering his eyes, yet he can’t do anything to stop the growing grin currently threatening to invade his whole face.

Nope. He cannot do it, yet. With his free hand, he grabs the neighbouring pillow with ridiculously high thread count and proceeds on smothering himself.

A baritone rumble comments from nearby, sounding vaguely amused. “Interesting. I did not expect this reaction, to be perfectly honest.”

“Give me a minute,” John whimpers and draws a steadying breath, deeply inhaling Sherlock’s lingering scent. Already, he can feel himself growing warm around his cheeks, and this will _not_ do. Nope. This will _not_ do, indeed. He’s _almost_ forty, he is the experienced one in here, being the serial dater of women and such and he can be smooth as fuck, they did not call him _Three Continents Watson_ in the army for no reason, thank you very much.

The bed he is currently lying on dips in one corner and he cannot help it, his smile grows bigger. He is _utterly_ hopeless. Meanwhile, a light finger draws a line on his naked chest. “Your coloration descends until here, exactly. Did you know that?” Sherlock helpfully adds, his voice a touch hesitant. 

John throws away the pillow and grabs his fingers, only to bring them to his mouth to kiss them. He sees, one [(1)](http://mokee.tumblr.com/post/141562465256/sherlock-has-never-done-one-1-sex) equally naked (completely. naked.) consulting detective (the only one in the world) sitting cross-legged next to him (also. naked.) on the bed and currently, smiling (smiling!) back to him.

John tries, tries not to make a big deal out of it, but he is painfully aware that unfortunately, very disappointingly, he, himself, Captain John Watson of Fifth Fusiliers and et cetera, is grinning like a love sick maniac that he sadly is. He clears his throat and rumbles, “ _Morning_ ,” and bites his lower lip.

And oh… _my God_. Sherlock grows (grows!) a bit… _bashful_. He does it. He _blushes_. After _everything_ , after that incredible night they just spent doing almost… _everything_ , he _still_ does it. Managing to hold eye contact with him no longer than three seconds, Sherlock mumbles, “Good morning, John.”

God, John is helpless. He turns his head and pushes Sherlock’s palm against his own smile, trying uselessly to cover it at least a little bit. All too late, he also, finally notices a half-eaten nectarine currently residing in Sherlock’s other hand. He is not sure which is more surprising; the fact that there is fresh, untainted fruit in the house or that Sherlock is _actually_ eating it.

He lifts his eyebrows pointedly at it.

Sherlock pauses from fascinatedly tracing John’s mouth and his almost-morning bearded chin, to look down at where he is pointing. He blinks at the fruit as if he has forgotten he still has it and brings it to his own mouth to take a chunk of it. “I was hungry,” he mumbles inaudibly and chews and swallows.

John smothers his grin into Sherlock’s knuckles. “Worked up an appetite?”

As each of his fingers are in process of being bitten lightly, Sherlock’s eyes widen. “I… did you?... I could…”

“Nope,” John grins and shakes his head, “I’m good.” He puts his hand behind his head on the pillow and relaxes in the sunlight hitting the bed.

Sherlock drops the nectarine, not caring where it lands and tumbles down on the sheets and quickly, he bends down onto his fours to crawl on the top of John, who, helpfully, also quickly frees both of his hands to draw him closer, smiling _widely_.

He tastes the slight stickiness of Sherlock’s lips and sweet fruity taste on his tongue. The kiss breaks down with a slight moan of both parties and already, they are breathless.

John picks a (cute) rebellious curl from Sherlock’s forehead to put it back in its place, tracing his cheeks while he is at it. He is quiet now with his smile. “Mm, morning, love.”

On his chest, he feels Sherlock holding his breath and then carefully, letting it go. His eyelashes move quite a few times and then close. “Morning, John,” Sherlock mumbles again, after taking a deep, steadying breath.

John very much knows what is going on. He offers a crinkle with his eyes and a deep boost from his chest. “It is such a fine morning; wouldn’t you say?”

It seems Sherlock too, is defenceless against a silly John. His nervous expression breaks into a series of small smileys, all blossoming into one, permanent, smile. “Indeed, it is, _Doctor_ Watson.”

John grins, “Oh, it’s lovely to see you up here, _Mister_ Holmes.”

Now they are both grinning like lunatics, he knows it. He puts his lips to closest bruise currently adorning Sherlock’s fair skin, next to many love bites he managed to land on him during last night, the evidence of their lovemaking clear as the daylight. “Everything still allright?” he asks, tiny bit of a concern raising its head from the joyous haze presently saturating his brain.

“Hmm,” Sherlock is quick to reassure him, he nods and hums, burying his nose into John’s ear. “I, um, I had to leave the bed, for a while.”

A tiny glass flower of worry cracks inside John’s chest and he puts both of his hands into Sherlock’s hair, the thumbs tracing his forehead. “It’s okay,” John says gently, “Do you want me to leave you alone a bit? I can take a shower.”

“No,” Sherlock dismisses it, arching his head a bit into his hands, brushing his cheek into John’s palm, “Not yet. I like you in here, in my bed.”

A kaleidoscope of flowers blossoms, instead. John smiles softly, “I very much like it in here, too.”

Sherlock makes a tender noise and John is gone, too. He grabs him by the waist, completely reversing their positions and kisses him deeply into the bed. “Now, can I say it?” he says between pausing kisses, “You didn’t let me say it, last night. I don’t know what difference does it make. Unless you wanted a nicer light for the memory palace?... But I very much wanted to say it then and I still want to say it now.”

Sherlock sits up quickly, his whole face blushed red. “I should have. I should bring you nectarines as well. Or how about a breakfast? Excellent. Speedy’s- I will be _right_ back…”

John grabs him back. “ _Nope_ ,” he shakes his head, “No, you don’t. You bloody well know what I am going to say and you are _going_ to _hear_ it, Sherlock, if it’s the last thing I do. _Come on_.” He puts a tiny kiss on his nose, “We can do this, we are grown ass men, we catch murderers and serial killers as a hobby, for God’s sake… oh, God. Love, don’t…” John’s voice wobbles, “Come on, don’t do this to me, I couldn’t ever… please, Sherlock… oh, God, please…”

Sherlock harshly wipes out the fat tears continuously running down on his cheeks, his eyes magnified tenfold by the sight of it, “I don’t know _what you are talking about_ ,” he protests loudly, “I _really_ don’t-”

John chokes out, “ _No, no, no,_ you can’t do, do, do-” he wildly points, “- _this_ , now! You simply can’t! Because if you _do_ , if you… _cry_ , while I… while I… I can’t ever get it out! And then we will have to be miserable! _Again!_ …”

“ _Crying?!_ ” Sherlock almost screeches with his whole face blotched, “I’m _not_ crying! _Who is_ crying?! You’re being- don’t be _ridiculous_ , of course I am not _crying_ …”

John is violently shaking his head and blinking repeatedly, quite unnecessarily, heavily, “And we _can’t_ okay, we _absolutely_ can’t be miserable…”

“I don’t know- what _could you_ \- _possibly_ …” Sherlock hiccups.

“God, just- just- look at _this_ \- it’s all- mess… _Jesus Christ_ , now look at me!! Look!! Just let me say it!…”

“…how dare… you are _more than_ _welcome_ to…”  

“I _love_ you,” John bursts out, crying, crying with silent, uncontrollable tears, nose red and blotched, cheeks wet. He says it in a way not dissimilar of passing on a grenade ready to go off, “I love you, I do, I love you more than _anything_ … _everything_ in this world. You blow my mind and I want to be with you, until the day I _die_ , until I am old and wrinkly and am even more grey than now. I love you and then, I will still be loving you. I am irrevocably, indisputably in love with you. You are in my heart and in my soul and I love you, love, love, _love_ you, Sherlock.”

“God,” Sherlock begs, his voice hoarse and completely ruined, “ _stop_ ,” and he grabs John’s face.

“ _Jesus… Christ…_ ” John laughs wetly, “I love you, Sherlock.”

“You must stop.”

“Very much, love you.”

“You’ve said it, now stop.”

“What, telling you that I love you?”

“John,” Sherlock gasps and gasps and then loudly swears, “ _Fuck_.” He bursts into wailing tears, sobbing and inhaling huge gulps, crying loudly while grasping onto John’s neck.

John makes a noise of absolute distress and grabs him back. “I now must tell it to you until the _end of the days_ , until you grow absolutely _sick_ and bored of it so that you can never, _ever_ doubt it.”

“I _won’t_ ,” Sherlock sobs, “I won’t grow _bored_ of it, though.”

“Just enough, then,” John sniffs wetly and giggles, “Jesus, we won’t have any dignity left, won’t we? We are going to be that _disgusting_ couple that everyone hates.”

“I don’t care.” Sherlock wails, “People. They can _suck_ it.”

John laughs hoarsely, “Good to know your vocabulary decreases back to five years old when you are _this_ emotional.”

Sherlock shakes his head insistently, “I am not. I’m not. I was a _very_ eloquent child.”

“I am absolutely sure of it,” John smiles to him fondly, “You do realize I need to propose too, sometime very soon, right? I can’t just have this. I have to have it _all_.”

Sherlock buries his head into his neck. “Just. Stop. Please. Just, for now.”

“Okay,” John hugs back tightly, “Okay, I am sorry, love. It’s just, I do very much love you, see?”

Sherlock draws a shaky breath, “I _do_ ,” he says, “I do see it. And, I- I do, I do love you too, John.”

“Good,” John whispers, blinking rapidly once again, “I am glad we cleared it out, now. When can you say _yes_ , as well?”

Sherlock grabs the tissue box from the top of the nightstand, blows his nose and then thinks. “Give me three minutes to wash my face and we can try it then, I suppose.”

John lands a bruising kiss to his cheek. “I’ll bring the tea, you keep hold of that thought.”

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I won't lie, I was already writing this and then [this post](http://marcelock.tumblr.com/post/143145387363/what-if-john-tries-to-start-saying-how-he-feels) happened and then... everything... went... black... 
> 
> 2) John did propose.
> 
> 3) He did it with a ring he just crafted out of aluminum foil which miraculously survived existing in their kitchen. Sherlock not only said yes, he also created one for John too. They both wore it proudly until their actual wedding day. 
> 
> 4) After that, the rings were displayed in a clear box on the mantel, until it permanently moved with them to Sussex.
> 
> 5) Until one day, Gladstone accidentally ate them. It was an unfortunate day. But in the end, she was okay.
> 
> 6) Next day, Sherlock replaced them to be showcased on their new mantel. They are still there.


End file.
